


Born to Remake History

by InkSplatterM



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Time Travel, back to Sochi they go, talking about animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSplatterM/pseuds/InkSplatterM
Summary: Of course Victor’s scores sailed him easily above Yuuri’s own. The final standings placing Yuuri in second, ahead of Christophe Giacometti, just as they had been the first time around. It was now only a matter of time before Yuuri would get that call about Vicchan’s death. And the guilt that would wrack him so that he would completely bomb his free skate, rendering himself an embarrassment and near prove himself a fraud.Not this time.





	Born to Remake History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shamarmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamarmon/gifts).



Yuuri finished his short program, the final spin stopping with both his arms stretched forward and hands grasping for something, someone, unseen. It was one of his older ones. He’d debuted it at the beginning of that last disastrous season before Victor crashed into his life. It and the free skate were to tell a story of ambition, longing, and competition. That the year he decided to skate to those themes was also his worst year to date? It was not an irony that Yuuri couldn’t see.

Funny though… he was breathing heavy, heavier than he ever had. It was like he was on his fifth or sixth run through on anything, rather than just starting. Yes, he was older now. Yes, his joints hurt more. Yes, his physical stamina wasn’t what it was. Yuuri knew his body, though. He knew what he could do, what he used to be able to do, and finishing this program? Barely a blip against his stamina.

That was when the roar of a crowd processed in his ears. Yuuri opened his eyes. The smudged and fuzzy view didn’t show him much, but he knew that he wasn’t in Hasetsu anymore. How… Yuuri went through bows mechanically, his mind stuck on the question of how he got wherever he was.

There was a familiar brown on brown blur off next to the rink. Celestino, not Victor. Victor would have been white on brown.

“Yuuri!” Celestino passed Yuuri his skate guards. “That was amazing, you hit your stride at the halfway point.”

“Mmm… Glasses.” Yuuri pulled on his guards on the second try for each of them. His hands were shaking.

“What?”

“My glasses. Please?”

He had to see. Celestino pulled out the glasses from the indoor pocket of his sport coat. Yuuri nearly poked his eyes out putting them on. Before the lenses fogged up from the heat of his face, he saw familiar advertisements on the side of the rink. He touched his chest. He knew the costume under his fingers.

Sochi. He was at the Sochi Grand Prix Finals.

Numb from head to toe, Yuuri let Celestino lead him to the kiss and cry. The scores read were his scores from the Sochi Grand Prix Final. He was in second place. Pinpricks of pain danced up and down his legs. Like he knew, he was in first place, but there would be one more skater after him: Victor.

If Yuuri was back in Sochi… was Victor also back? The whys and hows of the exact reason Yuuri was back in the past – for what else could it be? – fell away with that question. Victor had to have come back with him. Had to. But how could he know?

Yuuri wiped off his glasses on the hem of his jacket. Everything he and Victor had ended up on the ice. Maybe… maybe Victor would let him know there.

“I’m going to watch Victor’s program” Yuuri told Celestino as they exited the kiss and cry. “I’ll be back right after.”

“So long as you don’t get inside of your head too much.”

Yuuri barely heard the warning as he headed for a place to watch Victor. He knew Victor’s programs as well as he knew his own. This program Victor had made to be a companion to his Free Skate program. It was about abandonment, where Stammi Vicino was about longing. Victor admitted to Yuuri that the set of programs gained a new more meaning after the Grand Prix Final banquet. “The” because it was from then that so many things changed for both of them.

The costume was stark, severe. Very different than how Victor’s personality was. It had a high collar, like it was stiff, strangling Victor with the weight of it. Of course it didn’t actually do that. Victor moved easily from field move to jump to step and glide. He was a ghost in black on a field of white.

Yuuri wondered, hoped, that the small stutter was Victor following him on whatever same path had brought him back to this moment. There was no way to tell. Victor was too good a performer to let something impossible like sudden time travel to stop him from performing his best. Yuuri tried to have Victor meet his eyes when he was making his way to the kiss and cry. He managed only one look, full of burning want. But… Yuuri couldn’t tell. It was too fleeting, too devoid of context. He’d have to go to Victor directly. But if Victor hadn’t followed him, Yuuri would just make a fool of himself.

Of course Victor’s scores sailed him easily above Yuuri’s own. The final standings placing Yuuri in second, ahead of Christophe Giacometti, just as they had been the first time around. It was now only a matter of time before Yuuri would get that call about Vicchan’s death. And the guilt that would wrack him so that he would completely bomb his free skate, rendering himself an embarrassment and near prove himself a fraud.

Not this time.

Yuuri left his phone in his hotel room. Mari would leave a message if she couldn’t reach him directly. Especially since the call was just to say that they did everything they could. He had another mission.

Victor and Yuuri were staying at the same hotel, but were on different floors. Originally, after Victor had told Yuuri everything that had happened at the banquet, he also revealed that he had stayed in the same hotel, and helped Yuuri up to his room. Yuuri was on the fourth floor, bad luck, and Victor was on the seventh. It was easy to remember the room number, because they had almost the same room number: 433 and 733.

Yuuri knocked on the door to Victor’s room. It opened before he even finished the second knock. Victor stood in the doorway. Hope filled Yuuri’s chest and left him breathless.

Victor’s face slipped into a smirk. “I know I ordered room service, but I didn’t think it’d come this quickly.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want to play along, but the smirk was infectious. “Yes sir, one special order of katsudon.”

“So where’s my katsudon?”

“Right here, sir. You did make it a special order.” Yuuri stepped forward, almost pressing his chest against Victor’s. The moment of truth. This was it. Either Victor would send him away because he really didn’t remember, didn’t come back like Yuuri had, or Victor did remember, and was able to stay.

Victor’s smirk tried to waver. He brought up his index finger and pressed it against his lips. “Is my special order going to wear gold?”

“Oh, you ass.”

Yuuri pressed his lips against Victor’s laughing mouth, pushing them both back into the room. The door shutting behind them was a distant sound. It didn’t matter. Not here, not now, when they were both back in their twenties and right at the beginning of their life and love. Victor touched him with the same surety that came from his intense knowledge of Yuuri’s body. Yuuri touched him the same way.

“If you don’t do something, I’m going to…”

“You’re going to what?” Victor’s eyes danced as he bit his bottom lip. It shouldn’t have been endearing. Yuuri grabbed Victor’s collar and pulled him toward the hotel’s bed.

*****

What felt like hours later, Yuuri was tired from the exertion. Victor was nearly passed out. He ran his fingers through Victor’s silky hair, massaging tiny circles into Victor’s scalp. Both of their stamina was better now than what it would become, but Yuuri could, and would, always out class Victor.

“I’m not skating for you tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” Victor opened one bleary eye before closing it and nuzzling into Yuuri’s bare chest. “And here I thought I was inspirational.”

“By now, Mari should have left a message on my phone that Vicchan died. I’m skating for the memory of my dog. Honoring him like I should have, instead of crashing.”

“… I can live being second to a dog.”

Yuuri didn’t win gold. His technical score wasn’t high enough to compete against Victor’s, even with his superior presentation score. But he did win silver, placing him next to Victor on the podium, who held onto his gold medal, with Chris hanging onto bronze. After the press took their pictures, Yuuri and Victor shared a look.

“Wait until Worlds. I’ll get some gold for you then.”

“Not if I win gold for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a rather cute prompt to work on! I tried to get in smut but it didn't work out up to the standards I'd set for myself so there's a quick fade to black. Sorry about that, but I hope you enjoy your gift!


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